how to be brave
by gustin puckerman
Summary: Patients is what she does best. She waits. Day by day. Minute by minute. One-shot. Future fic. Puck/Rachel.


Just another story that manage to crossed my mind. Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s). So, no, this isn't mine except ideas, of course. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>how to be brave<strong>.  
><em>by: BigBenMitchell<em>

"_Patients is what she does best. She waits. Day by day. Minute by minute_,"

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><p>I saw her again today.<p>

She has the biggest smile I've ever seen, exactly like the ones I usually saw in magazines (excepts it's real and right in front of me). She has a beautiful dark brown hair that flows passed her shoulder that I am really jealous of. She wears big sunglasses, probably hiding her identity from the public eye. But some notices (like I did) and some ignored it (I tried). She has two children that she clearly loves and holds oh-so-tightly by her side.

I know who she is.

"Excuse me, are you Rachel Berry?"

She hesitates and avoid looking at me. Her children gives her a wary look from me to their mother. She was caught speechless, I can tell.

I smile at them and sit next to her, "Don't worry, I won't tell. I can't help but to notice you are always here. I just _have_ to ask why,"

She keeps her mouth shut, but manage to send me a weird smile (a please-don't-talk-to-me type of smile, that is). She hugged her boys closer. The twins kept their eye-contact with me and snuggle closer with their mother. I just have to question myself if I look like a murderer or a serial killer at that time. I shrug and shakes my head, "I'm Delilah. I work here for the past two months. College ain't cheap, they say," I try to laugh casually, but failed miserably.

I bite my lips without realizing and take a deep breath. I noticed that I _am_ making them uncomfortable.

The awkward moment when it's all awkward and you have no idea what to do... _Huh_.

I took a short glance around the train station I was working in.

A thousand people comes by a train station for just one day. Yet, there are only few that I remembered. There is one that is a father (well, tried to be), Mark. Clearly that his children (two teen girls and one eight-years old boy) hated him. He was there to pick them up every end of the month and yet they still roll their eyes at him and claim that he's a (I quoted) 'horrible dad'. He was there with presents and smile and hugs, and they spit on him.

And there's this lady that comes to the train station every 25th of January to wait for her daughter's return. Bonnie Cartwright was her name, on her late 60s already. She always told anyone (that had willingly gave themselves to listen) the story of her daughter. The way her curly brunette hair cupped her daughter's wonderful slim face and the way her green eyes reflected on her own made her heart flutters with butterflies. Bonnie told the story of how she always find peace at hearing her daughter's sweet wonderful laughter.

I remembered meeting her son (another few of I remembered- never mind that he's totally cute) on the third day of the job. He's kind of the reason I remembered Bonnie. Her son, Jacob, told us that his mother and his big sister actually had a big fight 13 years ago and refuse to talk to Bonnie. Ever since Jocob's big sister left, Bonnie couldn't stop mentioning her name- or in most people's perspective, she has gone insane. I insist that Bonnie only missed her daughter dearly, and whatever that they had fought about, they should forget about it.

I strangely found everyone that spends time at the station has a history behind it (or a story). Whether they are simply going to work, getting away from something or waiting for someone- they always have a story to be told.

And a certain dark brown haired woman, who is also a mother of two adorable boys, has a story of their own. I look over to them, smiling a bit. I look at the two twins that she grabbed tightly around her body. Both of the twin got the same dark (even darker than their mother's) brown, curly hair. One twin, on the left arm, is a bit tanner than the other while the one that is under the right arm have a small scar above his left eyebrow. Both of them have amazing hazel eyes that shines under the lights.

I smile, wondering what had happened with their father, considering I always saw this woman alone with only the twins.

I sigh, "I am so sorry to bother you. I didn't mean any discomfort to hap-,"

A clear of throat and I look at the woman. She perform a tight smile but nods her head, "I-It's okay. I am being t-too paranoid. Yes, you are indeed correct. I am Rachel Berry. I have seen you working here and I can't possibly miss the strange stares that you have been throwing our way," she smiled a bit, looking at a blush me, "It's nice to meet you, Delilah,"

My cheeks are hot and I feel terribly embarrassed. _Am I really that noticeable?_ I bite my lips again. "Yes, it's a pleasure. My mother is a _big_ fan of Broadway so... Rachel Berry is not just another name now, you know," I reminded her as my mind went back to many of her awards and wins. I almost wanted to pinch myself because _hello!_ I am sitting with a celebrity! Someone really need to take a picture and post it on facebook ASAP.

She manage to roll off a shaky laugh, but nevertheless, a small blush crept upon her face, "Yes, I suppose that you are right. Thank you," A sigh, and I can see the hesitation on her face, "Please, I really hope you will keep this matter quiet. I wouldn't want to risk having our identity blown. Paparazzi are crazy people and I really don't want to handle them right now," she beg me.

Through the thick sunglasses, I imagine a sad eyes pleading at me. I know the twins are certainly showing it at me. They snuggle in closer to their mother, maybe searching for a comfort that only she could give.

I smile at them, genuinely, "Of course. Totally understandable," I told her.

Rachel gives me a bright, big smile. Clearly that she was relieved. She look down at her boys, showing them the same smile. One of the boys, the one that is on her left arm, tilted his head, "She's not going to hurt us, is she mommy?" his small voice asks.

Rachel shakes her head and give the boys a peck on each of their foreheads. "Why won't you introduce yourselves at Miss Delilah?"

The boys didn't seem confident as they look at me. Still, I show them my warmest smile I could manage. They slowly parted from their mother and look up at me, like examining me. By their (seemingly) cold looks, I could feel myself shiver. How can a couple of kids, that is approximately 5 years old, does that to a grown-person?

The boy that was on the left arm started, "Hello, Miss Delilah. My name is Jack," he said, trying to smile. He shakes his small hands with me.

I nod, "Hello," and turn to the other twin.

He tried smiling too as he scratch the side of his head, "Um, my name's Daniel. Hi Miss Delilah"

And then it hit me. _Jack Daniels_. I look weirdly towards Rachel, but it was obvious she missed my raised eyebrow. I shrug my shoulder and turn back at the two boys.

"And you know me. Tell me something, how old are you guys?" I ask.

Both of them perked up instantly and answered ever-so proudly, "Seven!"

And I thought they were _five_. Seriously, I need to keep track on these people. I used to know all of these stuffs.

I personally blame life (and it's twisted mind).

"Seven? You guys must know how to count then, right?" I ask, looking over to them before continuing. I can see that this attracts their attention immediately, seeing as both of them are now focusing their hazel eyes on me, "Because I have a couple of difficult questions that needed answers. Do you think you could help me with that?"

Both of them perked up and couldn't help but to fight amongst each other. I spat them simple questions of addition, multiples and so on. It was quite interesting observing them and their little antiques. The twins love arguing over small facts and are not easily give in into any arguments. They both have strong, fun and great character- a trait they had probably picked up from their parents and their previous surroundings.

And after what seems like forever, I excused myself and started my shift over at the counter again.

I wave at them (and got a wave back! hooray!) before disappearing myself in the crowd of people.

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><p>I saw them again on the next weekend.<p>

They were more welcoming than the first meeting. This time, I brought my lunch with me which ended up being the twin's lunch instead. Rachel had apologized about a million times (whilst I laugh through a full-sandwich mouth) and scolded those poor boys. I shake my head, insists that it was okay.

Clearly she was not entirely happy with the result of having most of my lunch into her children's stomach, but I told her it was alright. Really.

I still have my coffee. As long as I have that, I am completely fine.

Plus, the boys are really cute with that little smile and that little smirk-

I wonder how they become so cute.

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><p>I saw them again the next weekend.<p>

And have a fun conversation with them.

Until it dawn over me that their history is still hidden between smiles and laughter that we shared.

There is a reason they are here every weekend.

But I never have the _balls_ to actually ask Rachel.

She was so fragile the first time I saw her (like she said, _paranoid_) maybe she will turn back into that fragile state if I ask such personal question.

So I decided to shut up and enjoy the moments I actually got to spend with them.

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><p>But days turn into months.<p>

Seasons eventually changes.

And people quit jobs.

I know I did.

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><p>I saw her again today.<p>

Four months had passed since the last time I actually saw her.

Her hair had grown longer and curlier by the end. I must admit, I am still jealous- but my short hair had grown too! (so, yeah.) She seems a bit more skinnier, I noticed but I shrug it off. She didn't have the twins with her, so she didn't smile (there seems to be no reason to). It seems sad not to see her large smile. Her flawless dark amazing brown hair flows and brushes against her soft, bony cheek that made her sometimes pull them behind her ears. She was sitting calmly at a bench, looking at the railway tracks with no emotions plastered across her face. Once in a while, she gazes at the end of the railway track, possibly hoping for a train to come up.

That was the moment I finally realized her reasons of being here.

She was waiting.

All of these times, with her wonderful, beautiful children, she was waiting for someone to _come_ home.

On her hands was a paper. It was old by the looks of it, but I wasn't sure. But I could bet on my dog's life (and I really _love_ Mr Derek) that, that particular paper is not something that you could have easily have it thrown away. It was a letter. A regards from far away. A sentences saying how they were from wherever they are.

"_Did you know Rachel Berry's husband is in the navy_?" my old mother's voice from years ago echoed in my mind.

From all these times, Rachel Berry is waiting for her husband to come _back_ home.

From all these times, Rachel Berry wasn't alone because of another celebrity divorced, it is because her husband was away.

Rachel Berry was holding the hope of her husband's return. Alive. Breathing. _Safe_.

I sit next to her, a tear roll down my cheek as I look at her. "You were waiting for him," I recalled the fact that just settled in my brain. I couldn't imagine the pain she was holding inside- maybe that's why I was crying. I _couldn't_. I couldn't imagine sending off my love one with a chance of them never returning. I couldn't imagine the longing feeling of them suddenly next to you when you wake up (when really, they aren't there). I couldn't imagine having to look at the door and hope it will bursts open with my love one's smile.

But she had to _live_ those days.

She had to see him leaving and wave her hand (probably for the last time). She had to look into her children's eyes and saw her husband's (because I am sure as hell she didn't have hazel eyes) and wishes him (only _wish_) that he is sleeping soundly tonight. She had to wake up and look on the other side of the bed, reminding herself once again, that her husband is not there.

His touch lingering on her skin.

His kisses on her lips.

His smiles assuring her that everything will be fine.

"_I love my husband so much_," Rachel Berry's shaky voice bummed through the microphone when she won herself another award not a long time ago. "_I love him_,"

She smiles at me, sniffling, "Yes. My husband. I was waiting for him," she laughs emptily and look over the railway track.

Rachel was a patient woman.

She waits. Day by day. Minute by minute. Seconds after seconds.

_Hours_.

**Tick-tock**.

Yet she never gets tired of waiting.

Of hoping.

_Loving_.

She was a patient woman.

She was a patient woman that waited for love.

"And my _real_ name is Rachel Puckerman," she said slowly- almost passed as a whisper, "Rachel Berry is my stage name. He told me to keep it. It will be easier since I start off my career with that name. He... He is such... I shouldn't listen to that barbarian (a laugh- a _choke_). I-I..., uh... _I miss him_, Delilah,"

From the corner of my (red, puffy, teary) eyes, I saw the letter.

Well, the end of it, anyway.

**...Take care of our kids, B. Be strong. It won't be long now before I come back. I miss you, babe. You know that. You, of all people, should know that. You don't know how hard it is living a day without seeing your face, smelling your shampoo, feeling those hard-ass slaps whenever I accidentally curse out loud- and most of all, hearing your incredible voice rang through my ears. **

**I miss you Rachel. I really do.**

**-Noah P.**

**I love you**.

Grabbing onto Rachel's hand, she said, "I would wait for a thousand years even if it kills me. I would wait for him and I will _never_ stop waiting. Because after all those horrible waiting, I will have him. _All_ of him. But for now, all I could do is be strong... and patient. I will wait for him. Just to hear another 'I love you' from him, just to hold him in the end, just to kiss him like there's no tomorrow, I _will_ wait. Noah is worth all of that suffering,"

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><p>I met a woman today.<p>

She has the biggest smile I have ever seen and the most beautiful brown hair anyone could have. She was petite but gorgeous nonetheless. She sighs a lot of the times and people all around would give her a stare. She wears thick sunglasses, probably hiding who she really is. She held her head down when she walks, which is weird. Some notices but most of them ignore her.

I know who she is.

She was the woman who taught her children that waiting for your love one isn't a waste of time.

She was the woman who would come to the train station every weekend.

She was the woman who would wait for her husband's return even if it could _end_ her.

She was the woman that was loyal and _strong_.

She was the woman that wasn't afraid of holding hopes and dreams.

She was the woman who believes in love.

Her husband's name is Noah Puckerman.

And her real name is Rachel Puckerman.

They have two children, Jack and Daniel. Twins.

I'm not sure how their story would end.

But I could tell you it's really beautiful.

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><p>"<em>I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years. I love you for a thousand more<em>," **Christina Perri- A Thousand Years**

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><p><strong>The End<strong>

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><p><strong>notes<strong>: I know it sucks. No flames. I don't live in the United States, so I don't know how train really works there. Review, if you have time! :) Yes, Puck is in the Navy.


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